Snow is Still Learning
by jackass in the box
Summary: Four things that she was to him, and the things that he learns.


**Title: **Snow is Still Learning

**Summary: **Four things that she was to him, and the things that he learns.

**For Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Contest (prompt: sweet as sugar) and Shady's (Thargelion) contest at Caesar's Palace (prompt: I loved too much, and such by such, is happiness thrown away).**

**For Caesar's Palace Prompts (prompts: white, divine, family)**

**Many thanks to Iris (finnicko-loves-anniec) to going beyond what I had expected in her previewing. Thank you very much for betaing.**

* * *

**White**

_i. his workers will do anything for him_

Snow, bored one day, hints that he'd like a room where he can watch The Hunger Games in 3D, holograms and all. Three weeks and two days later, the engineers proudly present His White Room, named for its white walls, an early thirtieth birthday present (by five months) for him.

As he walks around the room, inspecting every inch of the walls, he laughs at their eagerness.

_ii. never mind, his subjects are useless_

Snow is not optimistic about this year's tributes, but nonetheless, he positions his chair (which moves by remote control) right through Marcus's and watches their masks unravel with each question Marcus asks about home. Marcus gives each tribute a handshake, as customary; Snow, trained in politics, doesn't miss how his hand tilts downwards, trapping each of the tributes in his dominant handshake. Of course, nobody thinks anything of it except the people who really matter.

Snow slides a cherry between his lips and chews loudly, lips smacking and juices squelching. A bad habit he has picked up since the news that his blisters will never go away.

He presses a button on the chair and the tribute's voice shuts off, her mouth still moving. He stares at her face and finds that she is classically beautiful. Blonde hair rolls down her back like waves of gold, blue eyes are warm and friendly, a slim figure echoes the trends of the past. Her eyes widen as Marcus asks a question. _What an annoying creature_, Snow sneers.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

Snow looks at the microphone located in the armrest of his chair. "Bring me another bowl of cherries," he says, his voice commanding and slow, as if the man on the receiving side wouldn't be able to understand him otherwise.

"Yes, Mr. President."

"That is all."

"Yes, Mr. President."

A few seconds pass.

"Cut the call, you imbecile."

"Yes, Mr. President."

The line clicks off, and the girl resumes speaking. "Of course I plan on winning, Marcus. What kind of question is that?" She laughs, and the crowd echoes the sound. Snow mutes the volume with another sneer.

She walks off the stage, her hips swaying like a willow branch in a breeze, navy sheer dress sashaying, and blows a kiss to the audience.

The back of the Snow's seat vibrates for a second, and Snow presses the button to calm it.

"Come in."

A young boy, dressed all in white, the way Snow likes it, walks into the room with a bowl. Ah, his table has arrived. Snow takes the cherries from the avox and spits the pit that he's been holding in his mouth into the boy's hands.

Snow turns his attention back to the tribute on screen. Another brawny, formulaic tribute. He yawns behind his fist and zooms in on the audience. Passing through each expression, he finds that they are quite unimpressed.

_iii. most of them, anyway_

Sheer dresses are the new Capitol fashion.

He picks the petals off the white rose in his hand, and they float to the ground where they sleep gently on the floor.

He can't wait for the girl from District One to die. She is innocence and charm wrapped in a girl (on the cusp on maturity. Yes, he remembers the way her breasts curved under that dress) and what a good message she'll send to the outlying districts.

"Ouch."

The rose pricks his hand as if it knows his thoughts.

* * *

**Precocious**

_i. the districts are changing_

Snow doesn't go to the Evaluations, due to security issues, but when he sees her throwing knives, shooting arrows, throwing spears, climbing ropes, wielding a sword like she's done it her whole life, he knows that she has done it her whole life and that District One has been well brainwashed.

_ii. she is not sweet_

This year's Games are held in a maze, with the tributes tribute rising into a dead end each with one other tribute. A wall separates them from the rest of the hallways, and they are given one weapon, they key that will open the wall.

As soon as she emerges into the arena, she tackles the girl next to her, District Eight Female. It takes two minutes and three and two tenths seconds.

She immediately finds the key on the floor and runs to the door. She fumbles with the lock before pushing the key through. Snow can see that her hands are shaking.

She looks around for a fraction of a second before running down the hallway. This all takes five seconds.

* * *

**Divine**

_i. he can disregard the fact that she is a child – she is old enough. if she can kill, she is old enough._

On her way to the center of of the maze, she is attacked by the female tribute from District Two. They wrestle, grunting and screaming and punching wildly, and then she stabs her key into District Two's eye and gains the upper hand. Blood covers her hands like punch that's been spilled in drunkenness. She wipes her face, and the red mingles with the clear of her sweat and drips down her cheeks.

When she reaches the center of the maze, the fountain, where all the provisions are, the first thing she does is wash herself, of course, with a knife in her hand.

And that is when Snow feels his knees shake, because he knows that she knows what's she's doing to all the Capitol boys and she does it well enough that he doesn't care.

_ii. he has an idea_

He laughs to himself and asks his lackeys to buy a parachute for her. He zooms in on her face when she opens it and he sees disappointment for only a fraction of a second before her expression melts into one of appreciation. So she is good at playing pretend.

He has an idea.

_iii. he is always right_

Snow predicts that she will win The Games (and he makes sure by sending as many parachutes [this time useful] and mutts when necessary. No, the Games are not rigged; they begin way before the Arena is opened) and she does.

_iv. she is sweet_

"What is your name?"

"Sugar, sir."

"And how old are you?" Snow lounges on a couch, eating cherries, again.

"Fifteen, sir." she smiles. A faint pink colors her cheek; Snow isn't sure if it's the makeup or if she's blushing. He likes to think it's the latter (he likes to flatter himself).

"Ah, I see. Very young. You are such a sweet girl." he cooes and notices that her knees are trembling, though he is not sure if that is because of the compliment or not. "Do you have any family at home?"

"Yes, I have my mother and father, and my siblings. My brother is getting to be ten now, he's excited about the Games – he wants to be like-"

"That's enough, dear." Snow swallows. He doesn't want to hear this nonsense. It will only make him more hesitant.

She flushes in embarrassment (Snow is sure that it's embarrassment) and presses her lips together tightly. "Sorry."

"I hear that your father is having trouble with his job at the diamond mine."

"Yes, but we mana-"

Snow holds up a hand and she stops short. No excuses.

"You may go back to your room now," he says.

After a week, she gets a very useful job.

_v. she is _very_ sweet_

Sugar soon learns where her teeth should go when they aren't being whitened, where her fingers are supposed to go when they aren't being filed, where her legs should go when they're not being waxed.

She is a fast learner, and when Snow checks up on how much material she has covered, he is very pleased with her demonstration. His tutors always told him that he learned best by doing; perhaps it is the same for her. He is so glad that the program is going well.

.

Snow tests her one night (the allotted time is twelve hours), and when she starts crying, he flips her over so he may not see her face, streaked with running mascara and eyeshadow. She looks like a raccoon, but she doesn't really feel like one. _What a fake. Faux fur. Cheap. Whore. _(Snow has problems thinking coherently, but this is what runs through his mind between thrusts). _Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

When he finishes, he sends her to the makeup specialists, as if testing her some more (are you going to come back or are you going to defy my orders?).

She comes back.

.

He has her come back for a retest.

.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Another.

* * *

**Mistake**

_i. he has been reckless_

When he goes to book another appointment with her, he is told that she's not available.

_She isn't available? _

She is feeling nauseous and is suffering headaches due to a new medication that she's taking for her protection.

_Well, take her off it._

Will do_._

.

When he goes to book another appointment with her, he is told that she's not available, as in not physically present. He, in what he hopes is a calm voice, tells her secretary to cancel all appointments that she has and stalks back to his room where he watches the last Game's tape. He knows exactly how many seconds he has to fast forward to get to the part that he likes the watch best.

And while he is cleaning himself up, he leans into the mirror to inspect his stubble, and at that moment, as he looks himself in the eye, he realizes that he has made a mistake. He's started to care.

He splashes himself with cold water five times _wakeupwakeupwakeup get yourself together._

He doesn't.

_ii. everything is a mistake_

When he goes back a second time to book another appointment (for his thirty-second birthday he announces) he is told that she's not available. A physician arrives just before he's ready to shout.

A week later, she is in District Nine, pardoned of all her crimes. Snow doesn't have the heart (actually, he has too much heart) to kill his first child. He will grow to regret this decision.

Snow kills the physician and his assistants, instead.

* * *

**Family**

He looks at the little girl next to him and pats her shoulder. A clunky yellow helmet covers her head, contrasting with the pink, silk dress that she's wearing. "These are the beginnings of the Arena," he explains over the banging and clanging of the construction workers.

She pulls a handkerchief out of the handbag that she has tucked under her arm and wipes her hands as if she's disgusted by the mere sight of the lowly builders. She sniffs daintily before putting her handkerchief away. "I would like to go back to the palace, now."

"Alright, darling," Snow says, his voice strained. "That is fine. You need to get back to your lessons, anyway."

"Oh no, I hate lessons. I would like a new maths tutor. My current one is absolutely atrocious. He can't explain anything for his life."

"Alright, darling."

.

Snow has never been a loyal man, but he does not ever love another (and he questions if he has ever known what love is).


End file.
